I Thought You Were Dead
by annachibi
Summary: Three years after The Reichenbach Fall, John is on his way home and thinks someone is following him. A short, simple reunion fic.


John Watson had forgotten to get his wife a Valentine's Day gift, and as he sat in the tube on the way back home, he got the sense that somebody was watching him. He looked around, one hand holding the little shopping bag with Mary's gift in it, but nobody was paying particular attention to him. Still, the prickly feeling on the back of his neck remained.

When they came to a stop, he filed out with the throng of people, making his way up to the streets and toward home. The feeling of being watched was not going away, however. John stopped abruptly and turned about, but no one was following him. There was only an old bearded man sitting at the corner. Even so, he picked up his pace a little, pulling his scarf more snugly around his neck. He tried to distract himself with mundane thoughts. It was getting late, but he hoped Mary wouldn't notice him sneaking in with her present. Maybe he could hide it under his coat or something...

Suddenly, he was yanked into an alleyway and pushed roughly against the brick wall, a hand clapped over his mouth. Before he could react, a familiar deep voice was at his ear, causing his eyes to widen in shock.

"John, it's me."

He froze, backed against the wall, and the hand released him, the dark figure in front of him stepping back to let the light from the street lamps filtering into the alleyway illuminate his features as he removed his disguise. Those dark curly locks, those high cheekbones, those icy eyes-there was no doubt who it was. And yet...

"No, you're dead."

A hallucination, it had to be. Or a dream. Maybe he'd fallen asleep on the tube. All that time he'd waited, waited for Sherlock to come back by some trick, some miracle... He thought he'd gotten over that.

Sherlock saw the wild look in the shorter man's eyes and stepped forward again to grab the scarf-his scarf, he noticed, the dark blue scarf he had always been so fond of wearing-and tugged insistently.

"John, it's me, I'm real. I'm not dead. I never was."

A kaleidoscope of emotions played over John's face as the fact sank in. Suddenly, he threw a punch that landed squarely on Sherlock's chin, sending him reeling backwards. After a moment, the taller man stood up straight again, rubbing his jaw.

"You bastard! I saw you jump!"

"You saw me jump, but you didn't see me hit the ground, did you?"

"I saw you lying dead on the sidewalk!"

"You thought you did."

John took only a second to digest that idea before he dropped his bag and tackled Sherlock to the ground, whaling on the taller man.

"How could you let me believe you were dead?" he shouted, blows landing on arms and chest. "I went to your goddamned funeral! I visited your grave every day! People said you were a fraud, and I had no proof to tell them otherwise! I didn't know what to do with myself!"

Finally he realized Sherlock was not fighting back. His punches slowed to a stop as he looked down, Sherlock's face a mask he could not read.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing. I would think that is perfectly obvious."

A familiar annoyance flared behind John's confusion. "Yes, but why?"

Sherlock's face softened, and a flicker of sadness and guilt shone through the mask.

"Because I deserve this, John."

John stared at him for a long time, just stared, surprised to hear such words from his old friend. Then he slowly crumpled against Sherlock's chest, gripping him tightly.

"Why? Why did you jump? Why didn't you tell me?"

Sherlock sighed, moving to wrap his arms around the shorter man.

"It was the only way to stop Moriarty killing you and everyone I cared about. You must believe me when I say that. I do trust you, John. I trust you more than anyone. But it's taken me this long to make sure that you would not be harmed if I came back. I couldn't be sure that you would be safe if you learned I was alive."

John sat up and got off Sherlock, wiping embarrassedly at his eyes.

"I don't understand. Moriarty's dead. How could he do anything?"

Sherlock gave him a wry smile.

"A man can set many plans in motion before his death."

The tall man stood up, wincing slightly as he realised he would have some bruises later from John's punches, but he didn't mind. John got up as well, picking up the gift bag he'd so hastily discarded, looking down at it thoughtfully.

"I'm married now, you know," John said softly.

"I know... Congratulations." He did not sound as if he meant it, not entirely.

John was grasping at straws trying to think of some way not to let this reunion end. "You should come meet her. She's really quite nice. I think you might like her."

"No, I must go set things straight with Mycroft, clear my name for good. Don't tell anyone you've seen me, not yet."

John nodded solemnly, expecting Sherlock to simply leave then, but neither of them moved. So much had changed in three years, yet so much was the same. Would they have to get used to each other all over again? Finally, Sherlock moved to slip past John out onto the street, but he stopped for a moment, hand resting on the shorter man's shoulder.

"Thank you, John. Thank you for believing in me."

And then he was gone. But John knew he would see him again very soon.

After all, Sherlock still had to tell him all the details about how he'd pulled it off.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> I didn't really think about it, I just wrote it, so I apologize for any inconsistencies. It's been a very, very long time since I wrote a fanfic. I just wanted to write something that would make myself, and hopefully other Sherlockians, feel a bit better after The Reichenbach Fall. Stay strong, everyone!

Also, if you're wondering why I made it happen on Valentine's Day, that's because I was going to make it slashy, but then I ended up deciding against it.


End file.
